


Know Thyself

by verhalen



Series: Northern Lights [17]
Category: Multi-Fandom, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, Worldweavers - Multiverse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Anal Sex, Dream Sex, Dreams, Explicit Sexual Content, Fucking Yourself Literally, Gay Sex, Incest, M/M, One Shot, Oral Sex, Past Lives, Post-Canon, Reincarnation, Rimming, Self-cest, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 06:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20188039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen
Summary: Set concurrent withchapter 43 ofChains of Eternity- after accepting the gift of Vanimórë's blood, Sören sleeps and his spirit takes a journey to the Timeless Halls, where he meets the ascended Fëanor.Fëanor isquitehappy to see him.





	Know Thyself

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Chains Of Eternity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18070109) by [verhalen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen). 

**August 2019**  
_Akureyri, Iceland_  
  
After drinking the shot glass of whisky with Vanimórë's blood - the gift of immortality - Sören leaned on Dooku, watching the cat curl up for a nap, and a few minutes after taking the blood he was aware he felt tired, too. He snuggled on Dooku's shoulder in a muzzy half-conscious state for a little while, feeling deeply relaxed, and then he was out.  
  
And then, it started.  
  
Visions replayed from the _palantir_. Fëanor's life, and death. Miriel, led away to become Brynhildur the Valkyrie, then cast out, made flesh. The death of his father Sigurd, attacked by Odin's sorcery. Then Brynhildur's death. Sören's life, his trauma - the abuse from his aunt and uncle, the bullying in school, losing patients as a med student, the abuse and rape from Justin.   
  
An anvil, Fëanor hammering steel on a forge. Refining diamonds with fire, cutting them into brilliant facets.  
  
Seeing Fëanor, then - being both inside his mind, as the same person, and standing outside and seeing himself as he once was, long ago. Looking into the feverish, molten silver eyes... a touch that was like being burned.  
  
Suddenly, Sören was somewhere that felt like nowhere and everywhere all at once, a garden that seemed to exist outside of space and time. He and Dooku were both there, laying in the grass, and he saw Fëanor and Fingolfin approaching them, as magnificent as Maglor was fully unglamoured. Sören felt a surge of lust looking at Fingolfin, the hair falling to his knees, the pride in his silver-blue eyes, the high cheekbones, the sleek, hard body defined through the cut of his blue robes. He saw heat in Fingolfin's own gaze, just as he saw heat in Fëanor's eyes looking at Dooku, heat returned.  
  
But it was not Fingolfin who pulled him up and led him forth, it was Fëanor, the Silmarils bright on the circlet across his brow. Sören couldn't stop looking at them, feeling compelled to touch, and Fëanor paused, turned him, and took his hands.  
  
_Yes, you may. They are_ yours, _after all._  
  
He guided Sören's hands, and Sören's fingers traced one of the stones, in awe. It did not burn him, it felt soft and inviting, like touching silk.  
  
A memory of the touch of his mother, long ago, petting him to sleep. Love, warmth, acceptance.  
  
Sören snatched his hand back.  
  
_You think I would reject you?_  
  
Flickers of the past again, Justin's words. _Your art's ugly, stupid._ Einar's words. _You'll never amount to anything._  
  
Fëanor's hands on his face. _I am you, and you are me. I could no more reject you than I could reject my limbs. A kiss on his brow. You are me, and you are_ mine. _The Valar may have cursed others to see you as a worthless lump of coal, but I know you are a diamond, and you have been cut into the hardest of forms. You will shatter them._  
  
Fëanor took the crown from his head, and put it on Sören's. He took Sören's hand and they continued walking, to something that looked like a gate. Fëanor waved his hand.  
  
The weave of worlds, and seeing them, one at a time. Floating in the Thames, dead at Justin's hand. Another reality where Maglor rescued him, nursed him back to health, gave him pleasure again. Another reality where he had green hair and pointy ears, beardless, a more feminine face, standing on the shore with a pyramid-looking structure in the distance, and for once, this version of him somehow _knew_ him, felt him there, reached out to his mind.  
  
Startled, Sören shoved it out. _Get thee gone._  
  
_That's Sev. Well, one of the Sevs. He means well._ Fëanor patted him.  
  
The worlds kept coming and coming, faster and faster. Too fast to keep up with, though Sören knew he would remember it later. He was feeling dizzy, too hot, much too hot, and shaking; Fëanor's arms were around him to steady him. Sören felt almost as if he were going to fall through the gate, sucked in to space.  
  
Sören remembered the crossroads vision he'd had this past summer solstice. The fourth road he had not seen, back then, too overwhelmed - he went down it now, saw himself and Claire with two small children, a boy and a girl. Maglor and Dooku. Maglor giving the children piggyback rides, Sören and Claire chasing each other giggling, Sören and Dooku stealing a kiss in a kitchen as Dooku took a break from cooking. A dog, two cats... turtles?  
  
_Copernicus and Moriel._ Fëanor grinned.  
  
He was pulled back, and onto the road he'd taken before. He remembered the WELCOME TO CORVALLIS highway sign. Another sign, Oregon State University, at a building. Sören as a professor, wearing glasses, teaching art, Claire as his assistant. Maglor - also wearing wire-rimmed glasses - on bended knee on the beach, proposing to him, the two getting married in outlandish getups at some place called Voodoo Donut. Claire watching them kiss with lust in her eyes. Later, a threesome. Later, Sören and Dooku driving in the rain, kissing for the first time, making love.  
  
Sören's head was pounding, and he closed his eyes, feeling himself sink down. He felt Fëanor take the crown from his head, and when he looked up Fëanor was wearing the crown of Silmarils again.  
  
_Why have you showed me all of this?_ Sören asked.  
  
_To show you that you find your way to them across worlds, across universes. The Valar could not keep you from that, and if they cannot keep you from that... they are not as strong as they think they are._  
  
_Why would they want to keep me from them, in particular?_  
  
Fëanor laughed. _Why, indeed? It is as if they fear your ability to love - my ability to love - can be used as a weapon of war._  
  
Sören found himself curious. _Does Van know about any of this...?_  
  
_He's seen two of those worlds, ones where you're dead, and Claire is with Maglor. He's intervened in a third but I don't think he's seen the outcome of that._ An unspoken _he died,_ and Sören cringed, seeing a mental image of fire, and then Fëanor gently nudged it away. _He has been preoccupied with the Dagorath, but it should perhaps be stressed to him to take some time and look upon you elsewhere. The more we can break the Doom in other realities, the better things will be everywhere._  
  
_What about this reality? What do I do, now that I am becoming immortal?_  
  
Fëanor grinned, and his grin was predatory, like that of a wolf. _You remind the Valar and the Old Gods who you are. What they are dealing with. That the day of reckoning is at hand._  
  
_How..._  
  
_Claim the Silmarils. That is your first step._  
  
_And I ask you again, how._  
  
Fëanor took his hands, and kissed them. _You already know, even if you think you don't, you know_ here.  
  
His hands covering Sören's, they pressed to his heart.  
  
Then Fëanor drew him in for a kiss, hands roaming over him.  
  
Sören gasped. It was still a shock to be meeting the ascended version of who he was in a past life, it was another thing entirely to be kissing him... and to be enjoying it so much. Sören groaned as their tongues met, slowly swirling together, and then the kiss deepened, tongues playing, dancing. Sören went hard and the robe he was wearing in his vision was open now, Fëanor's hands sliding down the bare chest, stomach, teasing the sensitive seam of his crotch, fingers playing in the dark bush before a hand wrapped around his hard length, stroking it slowly.  
  
Fëanor hooked a finger through the captive bead ring in the head of Sören's cock, and looked down to take a good look at it. _Very nice._ Fëanor smiled seductively, his thumb stroking the frenulum; Sören gasped again, shivering at the touch, and Fëanor drew Sören's lower lip between his lips to suck on it, then nibbled. _Very, very nice._  
  
_I..._ Sören couldn't believe this was happening.  
  
Fëanor made a moue. _You don't like it?_  
  
_I like it a lot. I just..._ Sören swallowed hard. _You want me...?_  
  
_I told you you're mine._ And with that, Fëanor kissed him again, and the robe slipped from Sören's body onto the grass, before Fëanor pushed Sören down into the grass, beside the robe. The robe from Fëanor's body was also on the grass now, and Sören admired the perfectly sculpted Noldorin body as Fëanor climbed over him, taking his mouth in another kiss. Feeling bolder, Sören let himself touch, feel, hands exploring Fëanor's body, delighting in the moans and sighs Fëanor made as Sören's hands wandered.  
  
They kissed again and again, hard cocks rubbing together, hands playing over each other, enjoying the sensual pleasure, savoring those first moments of desire. But things quickly heated, and soon Fëanor was kissing and licking his way down. Just Fëanor's mouth alone was searing hot, and Fëanor seemed to already know Sören's body and where he was sensitive - _of course I would_; Fëanor was amused that Sören wouldn't realize this. _I am you, after all. And I've certainly watched you enough times, besides._  
  
_Enjoyed the show, did you?_ Sören raised an eyebrow.  
  
_My dear, "enjoyed" doesn't begin to describe it._ Fëanor grinned, and gave a little chuckle before he licked the head of Sören's cock, making Sören cry out. _Ñolofinwë and Kanafinwë certainly benefited from my enjoyment as well._  
  
With that, Fëanor took the head of Sören's cock into his mouth, rubbing his tongue as he sucked, kissing it, making Sören pant and writhe. Watching Fëanor take all of him into his mouth was almost more than Sören could bear, especially when Fëanor deep-throated him, sucking hard and fast like he was starving for it. Fëanor knew how to give head - Sören thought to himself that Fëanor had a lot of practice, just like he had. And Fëanor knew what his cock liked. So much that before Sören could come in his mouth, Fëanor took the cock out and started licking it, teasing to prolong the pleasure, knowing the release would be all the stronger for building the tension. Fëanor licked and licked, before taking just the head back into his mouth, sucking slowly as his hand rubbed the shaft. When Fëanor had about half of the cock back in his mouth, rubbing his tongue again, Sören felt himself on that edge, balls tightening. At last, after what felt like an eternity, Fëanor stuck a finger inside him, and with Fëanor's finger rubbing his prostate and Fëanor's lips on the head of his cock, tongue fucking the frenulum, Sören let go with a wild cry. Fëanor drank him down, swallowing, licking him clean through aftershocks.  
  
_You taste good._ Fëanor came up to kiss him, rubbing his hard cock against Sören's thigh. _But we're not finished yet._  
  
Sören smiled. _Of course not._  
  
Their noses rubbed and they kissed again. Sören arched to him, and gasped as Fëanor conjured a bottle of oil out of nothing, slicking his hand, pushing two fingers into him. They continued kissing as Fëanor worked his fingers in him, two, then three, stroking the prostate just right, getting Sören close to orgasm again. And then Fëanor's cock was inside him...  
  
...and everything felt infinite. Sören gasped at the rush of power coursing through him as they became one flesh, Sören not knowing where he ended and Fëanor began. As Fëanor started to move inside him, slowly, deliberately, Sören didn't just feel the sweet rubbing against his prostate but he could also feel Fëanor's pleasure, the sensations of himself wrapped around Fëanor's cock, and he knew Fëanor could feel the stroking on his own prostate just as Sören could feel the tight heat and friction on his own cock.  
  
Fëanor kept it slow at first, letting Sören get adjusted not just to the stretching inside him but the intense connection between them, and the feeling of power, the force of creation igniting within him. Sören could see stars, and then flames, and then the star-fire in Fëanor's eyes, molten silver.  
  
Fëanor began to drive faster, harder, kissing Sören passionately. Sören wrapped his arms and legs around Fëanor, rocking against him, matching his rhythm, giving back as good as he got. As their bodies slapped together, Fëanor and Sören crying out together, Sören felt the flames burning hotter, the mental image of a forge, an anvil, and as Fëanor hammered away inside him, every spark hammered was a soul, a dream, a vision, inspiration, creation, _change_.  
  
_You see it._  
  
_Yes._ Sören kissed him. _Yes._  
  
_We have existed from before time was time. The ones that stand against you fear the power in you, and what that means for them._ Fëanor's lips pressed against Sören's forehead, and he stroked Sören's face tenderly. _Their time is drawing to a close. But you and I... we will always_ burn.  
  
Fëanor kissed him hard, and then Sören's legs were on his shoulders and Fëanor pounded into him. Sören writhed, begging for more until he couldn't make words anymore, could only scream and howl, the pleasure and tension building to fever pitch, the perfect, heady combination of wild, raw lust and deep, fierce love. Their climax hit at the same time, and as Sören erupted over Fëanor and felt Fëanor shooting into him, Sören could only see white light, brilliant and blinding, like the Silmarils had become a supernova and it was swallowing him whole, baptized in fire.  
  
That was the first round. Sören stirred to Fëanor hardening up inside him, kissing him tenderly, then more passionately, fingers brushing a nipple, playing with the nipple ring. _So pretty._ Fëanor lowered his head and lapped, smiling as the nipple pebbled, smiling more broadly as Sören moaned. He tugged the nipple ring with his teeth and suckled, eyes hot as Sören bucked against him, nails raking his back.  
  
Sören looked up then and saw Fingolfin and Maglor strolling into that part of the gardens, their own robes gone, beautifully erect. Sören's mouth caught at the sight of them. He'd seen the Maglor of his world unglamoured, but here was Maglor _ascended_, glowing more intensely than before, all of his scars healed, and Sören swore he could hear music playing somewhere as Maglor strode towards them.  
  
_Come for the show, have you?_ Fëanor looked over at his shoulder at them.  
  
_Of course, brother._ Fingolfin's silver-blue eyes looked at Sören like he was dinner and dessert. Sören was already hard, and now his cock was almost in pain at the beauty of Fingolfin; Sören couldn't help but lick his lips at the sight of Fingolfin's cock dripping precum.  
  
_You'll just have to watch this time. He's already burning up back in his world, and we don't want him to spontaneously combust._ Fëanor turned back to Sören with a wicked grin. _Besides, if you know you can play with them next time, it means you might visit us again._  
  
_I don't know how._ Sören laughed nervously. _I don't even know how I got here..._  
  
_You'll figure it out._ Fëanor kissed the tip of his nose. _In the meantime, let's put on a performance for our brother and son, yes?_  
  
Sören's response to that was to roll Fëanor onto his back with a growl, and start riding him hard.  
  
_Good boy._ Fëanor's hands slid over Sören's chest, lingering at the nipples; Sören cried out as Fëanor rubbed and plucked them, tugged the nipple rings, flicked the rings around. He could feel how delighted Fëanor was with the adornments...  
  
...as delighted as he was by the Prince Albert piercing. One of Fëanor's hands continued to play with the nipple rings as the other went to Sören's cock, gently stroking, a finger hooked through the ring in the head, rolling around the bead.  
  
_This deserves a diamond._  
  
_I can't afford that._  
  
_Someday, you will._ Then Fëanor leaned up to start licking Sören's nipples.  
  
Sören cradled Fëanor's head, hands brushing the glorious flood of ebony hair, slowing down atop him. Savoring the filthy sweetness of Fëanor's tongue, the heat in those silver eyes, the intoxicating mix of tenderness and primal lust.  
  
When Sören had his fill of Fëanor's mouth on his nipples, he gently pushed Fëanor onto his back again, leaned over him, and claimed his mouth. Fëanor's arms wrapped around Sören, sliding down his back, and Sören felt fire in his spine, that surge of power again, gathering from his spine into his belly like storm clouds... a storm of fire...  
  
_Yes. Burn._ Fëanor kissed him back, harder.  
  
That was when Sören finally noticed out of the corner of his eye - so lost he had been in their all-consuming passion - that Fingolfin and Maglor were watching them and making love, kissing, their cocks rubbing together. It was a delicious sight. Sören groaned appreciatively, and shuddered when his eyes met Maglor's, seeing the lust in Maglor's eyes watching them. Maglor and Fingolfin kissed again, their tongues playing together between kisses. Their cocks were completely slick with precum, looking so tempting - Sören licked his lips again, wishing for an instant he could take both cocks into his mouth - but there was no urgency, despite the feverish kisses and the way they were grinding against each other, hands playing in each other's hair, caressing each other's hard bodies. They were savoring the show, and each other.  
  
The sight of Maglor and Fingolfin together made Sören start riding Fëanor like a wild bull, bucking furiously, white-knuckled as he held onto Fëanor for dear life. Their cries rang out, echoing, and soon Maglor and Fingolfin's voices were joining them, rubbing together harder, cocks dueling. Fëanor played with Sören's cock, and when Sören was shaking, not able to hold back much longer, Fëanor's free hand slid up to Sören's heart. His touch burned.  
  
_Come._  
  
Sören let out a wild, wordless scream as his orgasm shattered him, and then Fëanor's voice joined his, Fëanor crying out again and again as he spent into Sören's channel, contracting and pulsing around him. Sören let out another blast of cum as he watched Fingolfin and Maglor climaxing together, cock shooting on cock, the two of them drinking each other's cries as their bodies shook with the force of their release.  
  
Sören collapsed against Fëanor's chest and Fëanor held him, rocked him, stroking his curls. Sören melted into that brilliant light again and everything was liquid fire, and then he saw Fëanor's eyes looking into his, shining with love.  
  
_Do you want to take me?_ Fëanor's fingers strayed to the Prince Albert ring again. _I want to feel this._  
  
Sören laughed. He kissed the tip of Fëanor's nose and Fëanor pulled out of him. Sören smiled at Fëanor already erect again, and he knew Fëanor was likely ready to take a cock, but he decided to return the favor of Fëanor kissing and licking him all over, getting Fëanor even more ready by letting his tongue and fingers wander over every inch of his body, knowing instinctively what he liked. Then Sören's tongue was inside him, groaning into him as Fëanor arched, panted, gasped, moaned, tugging Sören's curls.  
  
Fingolfin and Maglor were watching again, kissing each other, stroking each other's cocks. When Sören couldn't hold back anymore and mounted, his knees on either side of Fëanor's thighs, cock poised at the entrance, he saw Fingolfin and Maglor roll into the sixty-nine position, sucking slowly, languidly... still watching.  
  
Sören and Fëanor took each other's hands as Sören pushed inside him. And, as luscious as the sight was of Fingolfin and Maglor sucking each other's cocks... as luscious as the sight was of his own cock moving in and out of Fëanor's hole, Fëanor's beautiful body glistening with sweat, rapture on his face... Sören kept it slow. He lay in Fëanor's arms again and they kissed deeply, sweetly.  
  
_It's going to be all right._ Fëanor's lips were on Sören's forehead again. _Everything will be all right, in time._  
  
Sören kissed him again, fingers running through Fëanor's hair, and then he was kissing and licking Fëanor's neck, his shoulder... and he gently planted a kiss on Fëanor's chest over his heart, resting his forehead there for a moment.  
  
Now it was Fëanor's turn to ride, flipping Sören onto his back. And though it was Sören inside him, Sören still felt like he was the one being taken, fucked, with Fëanor's passion demanding. And Sören held nothing back, giving in with his own passion, fire rising to meet fire, two flames become one once again...  
  
That last climax was even more like an explosion than the ones before. Sören's entire body convulsed, and he felt like he was being hurled into space. Fëanor's arms held him close, held him safe, he was there on the grass in the garden but he felt like he was flying, until he was one with the stars, one with whatever had exploded those stars into being...  
  
Fingolfin and Maglor were there now, kissing Fëanor, kissing Sören, sharing the taste of their cum. Sören felt like he was drinking holy wine, and if his body had not been so spent from Fëanor's contractions milking him dry, he would have wanted all three of them at once, any way and every way he could get them. But now all three were holding him, petting him as if he were something precious. Fingolfin's nose rubbed in Sören's curls and when Sören smiled up at him Fingolfin stroked his face, took Sören's hand and kissed it.  
  
_Yes, you must come back to us sometime._  
  
_But for now..._ Fëanor gave Sören one last kiss. Scorching, burning, electrifying him, rousing him from the content, sleepy drift of post-orgasmic bliss to his body screaming awake.  
  
And Sören was back in his body again, eyes blinking open.   
  
"Oh _Hells_, thank fuck." The Maglor of his world had been keeping vigil; Sören was drenched with sweat. Maglor pressed a bottle of Gatorade to his lips.  
  
"You're awake?" Dooku's voice sounded slurred, as he rolled over. Dooku looked pale under his olive complexion, also glistening with sweat, though considerably less than Sören. His eyes were glassy.  
  
"What happened?" Sören rubbed his face, and took the bottle from Maglor to take another sip, almost dropping it - even a bottle of Gatorade felt like it weighed a ton, he was so weak and exhausted.  
  
"You ran a very, very high fever. Both of you ran fevers, but yours was worse, Sören." Maglor had a thermometer out. "You were 40 C at one point."  
  
"_Jesus._"  
  
But it wasn't surprising, not really, not after what he'd done. Sören's entire body ached, as if it had been well-used. Which of course, was exactly what had happened... elsewhere.  
  
Dooku was nursing his own bottle of Gatorade. "I had very strange dreams." He looked at Sören. "I imagine you did as well...?"  
  
Sören nodded. Strange didn't even begin to describe it.  
  
There were really no words that could accurately describe it. He was glad to be back in his world with his Maglor and his Fingolfin, who he'd grown to know and love... but it would be interesting indeed to visit the Timeless Halls again someday. When the immortality had more of a chance to settle, and his powers would be stronger. A frisson went down his spine, just before Maglor's hand was on his arm, brushing a kiss across his brow to put him back to sleep - to actually rest this time.


End file.
